“I say, this is awfully pretentious of me, isn’t it? Asking you round then foisting my music upon you?”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You didn’t foist anything on me, I asked!”
“Yes, but if I were an acrobat or something, and suddenly on a whim I rolled back the carpet and performed my double backflip, or – or a plumber insisting you inspect my S-bends, or – ”
“Oh, for God’s sake, Sebastian, just get on with it and put it on!”
“Righto.”
He gave a mock salute and obliged with a grin, but that little exchange had relaxed me. I felt that the somewhat academic atmosphere had been purged. I leant back in my chair and crossed my legs.
“Well, this particular piece is played by the Berlin Philharmonic. It’s called The Rigorous Judgement.”
Blimey, The Rigorous Judgement. I sat bolt upright again. Perhaps I’d been right about that garden, after all. Perhaps he was into order and control. I braced myself and waited.
The Rigorous Judgement, however, began sublimely. Breezy flutes and other pleasant windy things piped softly and wistfully and I imagined we were somewhere – oh goodness, somewhere pastoral and sylvan, with a bird perhaps – a piccolo was it? – lifting the melody. I gazed contentedly into the empty grate, letting myself be lulled along, cajoled by gently rising passages until, abruptly, the mood changed. The bird seemed to cry out in alarm, there was a shriek, and suddenly, it seemed the woods were upon us. Dark, base notes sounded ominously, one after the other, coming like footsteps all the time, and simultaneously terrified piping noises whirled overhead, swooping and crying as the strings gathered momentum. The intensity built, and as drums and cymbals joined the violins, there was a sudden sprawling change of key, as horns and trumpets heralded some sort of procession, some kind of parade. I sat up a bit. Braced myself. More and more triumphant waves unfolded until there was a great orchestral wall of sound, and then suddenly – it stopped. A single flute piped on, to a clearing, perhaps, where the strings started up again, softly. They played quietly for a while until, finally, they too faded away, as the picture faded too, leaving nothing behind, but a tantalising afterglow.
I stared at Sebastian in silence for a moment, realising I was actually on the edge of my seat. For a while where I was speechless. I felt my cheeks flush red.
“Good heavens, that was beautiful!” I finally managed.
“Really?”
“God, really!” I gasped. “I mean, well, I’ve never sat down and listened properly to that sort of music before so I’m not the best person to ask – a complete philistine, in fact – but I could see it, Sebastian, and feel it too! I had no idea music could do that to you, had no idea you got pictures with it!”
He laughed. Stood up. “Good.” He rubbed his hands together briskly. “Well, come on, let’s go down and get some supper, before you start reminding me of some of the more pseudy music critics I know.”
He caught my eye and I laughed, but I could tell he was pleased, and as I got up and followed him down the steps to the basement kitchen, it was with a considerably lighter heart. That music, dark and forbidding though it had been in parts, had somehow changed the mood of the evening. All guards were off and all defences down; it was as if he’d said, “OK, this is me. Like me or loathe me,” just as I, I thought suddenly, could walk him round to my back yard, swing my arm towards my intricate beds, paths and borders and say, “OK, well, this is me, too.”
As he struggled to get a huge, red-hot casserole out of the oven, he directed me to a drawer where I found some knives and forks, and I set about laying the table. Uncannily relaxed now – to my amazement he even flicked Capital Radio on – I sat down, as he manoeuvred the heavy Le Creuset across from the stove to the table, and lifted the lid. We stared into it for a moment in silence, then at each other. His mouth twitched. I swear to God, not even a dog, not even a ravenous Labrador, would hoover up that honking, heaving pile of bones.
“Bloody hell,” muttered Sebastian under his breath, and on an impulse, turned and tipped the whole lot in the bin.
He then had a surge of guilt about Maureen’s hurt feelings, and giggling wildly, we had to lift out the steaming bin liner, wrap it in three more, and then take it to the dustbins outside. Whilst Sebastian was getting rid of the evidence, I managed to rustle up a mushroom omelette, find some rather good Brie lurking at the back of the fridge, and Sebastian came back and opened another bottle of wine. Finally, we sat down. The wine and the conversation flowed, barriers were lowered – I knew his past, or the important bits anyway, and he knew mine – and it seemed that we could now get on with the business of discussing friends, family – both subjects complicated – work, children, this single life – anything, in fact, of great, little, or no importance that sprung to mind. It was easy, it was relaxed, and later, as I toyed with the cheese, laughing as he recounted some musical anecdote, I even forgot to answer him.
“What?” he demanded.
I looked up. “Sorry?”
“What were you thinking?”
I grinned. “I was just thinking how different you are from that night when I first met you at Nanette’s. I don’t think you said more than two words to anyone, just stared fixedly at the curtains as if you were contemplating eating them or something.”
He wiped his mouth on his napkin. “Ah yes, the dinner party from hell, with the used-car salesman, the couple who wanted to talk us through all eighteen of their home births, and the strange woman beside me, keen to hear about my macrame classes.” He grinned and I smiled back at him over the table. The kitchen clock ticked on in the silence. Suddenly I glanced up.
“Sebastian, I must go. It’s way past twelve, Nanette will be pacing up and down.”
“Is it?” He looked up. “God, and I’ve got to do some work tomorrow. Come on, let’s get you out of here otherwise I’ll be too wide awake to sleep and start tinkering with that wretched piano, composing whatever springs to mind well into the small hours, and then tomorrow I’ll feel like death, when I should be wide awake and concentrating hard on doing some proper, paid, commissioned work.”
I laughed. “Is that what you’re like?”
“Oh, totally. It’s compulsive, this music lark, I’m afraid, but only when I’m doing what I want. I’m surprised Nanette hasn’t observed me tearing my hair out at four in the morning, mouthing obscenities at passers-by, called the police, even.”
We got up and he walked me to the door, opening it on to the warm, dark night, at which point, the first awkward moment of the evening arose. I turned, smiled.
“Good night then, and thanks, Sebastian.”
He scratched his head, which I’d noticed he did occasionally. “Night, Olivia.”
We hesitated, and then I sort of lunged cheekwards, whilst he, unfortunately, lunged the other way. We laughed as we crashed noses, tried again, and finally accomplished a dignified social peck on the cheek.
“I should walk you back,” he called as I tripped down the steps into the street.
“Don’t be ridiculous, you can see me back from there.”
He laughed. “True.”
As I walked across the cobbles in the warm, still air, a crescent moon was rising over the tower of the Abbey, and I was aware and pleased that he was indeed watching me. As I got to my gate, I turned and waved, smiling. He raised his hand back in salute, and then the red front door closed as he went in. My smile faded and I stared at the door for a moment. Swallowed. Yes, that’s what I miss, I reflected. Having a laugh. A giggle. Having – well, the companionship of a man. Oh sure, I had masses of girlfriends but I missed – yes, I missed maleness. I sighed, looked up at the stars. It wasn’t the same as being with Johnny, of course. Nobody could make me roar like he could, make me literally throw back my head and hoot with laughter, and nobody could make me come alive as he did too, make me want to dive impulsively into bed with him, stay there all day. I absently dead-headed a day lily beside me. In a way, then, I realised sadly, this
evening had been something of a poisoned chalice. It had made me realise what I missed: being the female part of a team, moving around the kitchen with a man, getting his perspective on things, laughing at his jokes – but it had also made me realise that nice as Sebastian was, he could never be Johnny. That no one could ever be Johnny. And up to now, that had never been so glaringly apparent, because up to now, I’d only met pretty second-rate men. But this one was first rate, and still he couldn’t match up. I stared up at the stars finding the plough, its handle, the pan. Where did that leave me then? Sad and alone for twenty years, as Claudia kept doggedly reminding me, finally tottering into some dentist’s waiting room with my gardening mags and seeing the light in a white-coated, middle-aged man’s eye as he prepared to repair my molars, as time, finally, did its repair work, too?
I sighed and crunched up the empty drive to the front door. Mac’s lorry was missing, so no doubt the curry evening had turned into eight pints and some sampling of the local nightlife, too. There’d be hangovers in the morning.
I put my key in the lock and heard the television quietly humming.
“Nanette? I’m back,” I whispered, shutting the door softly behind me.
I went into the sitting room, but the sofa was empty – no Nanette. She must be in the kitchen then. I turned the television off and went in to look. Apparently not. I tried the loo.
“Nanette?” I called quietly, knocking softly. I pushed open the door. Nothing.
Where was she? Slightly panicky now I dashed upstairs, first into Claudia’s bedroom where to my relief, she was fast asleep, breathing peacefully, and still hugging her old blue rabbit. I smiled, pulled up her duvet and tucked her in. Then I frowned. Bloody hell, where on earth was Nanette? Crashed out on my bed? I went next door. No. In the spare room then, having decided it was so late she’d stay the night? I opened that door. Empty. Well, how very peculiar. I stood on the landing, frowning. Had she gone home? I’d told her I’d be late, for crying out loud. Surely she wouldn’t do a thing like that? Leave Claudia here on her own? But then again, if Roger had suddenly rung up, announced he was back, been panting to see her…there was no knowing with Nanette. I stared out of the landing window. Suddenly it came to me: of course, the garden! It was a warm night – a sultry one, in fact – so she’d be down there, by the river, where we’d all gathered the other evening, sitting under the cedar tree armed with a drink and a magazine and gazing periodically at the stars. I know that’s where I’d be.
I ran downstairs and went out, walking confidently down to the river. There I stopped, bewildered. The seats under the tree were deserted, as was – I swung back – the terrace. I turned around, biting my thumbnail. The caravan was in darkness across the stream, but on an impulse, I went across the little bridge towards it anyway. Perhaps Lance hadn’t gone for a curry, after all; perhaps he’d know where she was. As I approached, though, I stopped dead in my tracks. Well, how odd…I peered. How very extraordinary. That really was the weirdest thing. The caravan was moving. Rocking, and bouncing up and down of its own accord, as if it had a momentum all of its own, as if it was, well, as if it was possessed! I ran up and flung open the door.
“Lance!”
“Shit!” came a voice from the shadows. Lance’s voice.
Instinctively I flicked on the light.
At the other end of the caravan, where the beds pulled down from the wall, two naked bodies were caught, mid-writhe, on a lower bunk. Frantic bare arms scrabbled for the duvet on the floor, and as they hiked it up over their heads, naked legs and buttocks were still glaringly apparent below. Two tousled heads shot out from under it, and two pairs of startled eyes blinked at me in the brightness, like rabbits caught in headlamps. Lance’s eyes, and Nanette’s.
18
“Nanette!”
We stared at each other for a second, then I quickly slammed the caravan door.
“Oh, for God’s sake!” I shrieked furiously at it.
Two seconds later she was out, hair standing on end, and hurriedly tying up a white nylon dressing gown with the legend ‘Plasterers Do It Plastered’ emblazoned on the front.
“Oh Lord, Olivia, what must you think?” she gasped, raking a hand through dishevelled hair. “I’m so sorry, can’t think what came over me!”
“Rampant hormones, I should think. Christ Almighty, Nanette, you’re supposed to be baby-sitting my daughter, not shagging my builder!”
“Cabinet-maker,” she correctly quickly.
“And what if Claudia had come downstairs? What if she’d come outside and found you! Talk me through that charming little scenario, if you will!”
“Oh no,” she assured me earnestly, clutching my arm, “I made absolutely sure she was fast asleep. I wouldn’t have dreamt of doing anything untoward if there’d been the slightest chance she’d come down, really.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” I scoffed, “you were probably so revved up it wouldn’t have mattered if she’d been sitting right beside you on the sofa! Taking notes!”
“Well, at least we made it to the caravan,” she said peevishly, pulling the dressing gown around her. “That was Lance’s idea. He was being frightfully responsible, you know; you really mustn’t blame him.”
“Responsible!”
“Well, I don’t know why you’re so upset, Liwy. It’s not as if you wanted him, did you, so why shouldn’t I?”
I gaped at her, speechless. “What the hell has that got to do with anything!” I spluttered finally. “The reason I’m upset, Nanette, is because I’m concerned for my daughter’s welfare, and you were supposed to be looking after her! I couldn’t give two hoots what you do with Lance in the privacy of your own home!”
“Oh no, I couldn’t do it there.” She shook her head vehemently. “It wouldn’t be fair on Roger.”
“Roger! You’re still planning on being fair to Roger, are you? Jesus! Well, what would he think about all – all this!” I flicked my hand despairingly at the caravan behind us.
“Oh, I think best not to tell him, don’t you?” she said, glancing about nervously. “I think we’ll just keep it between ourselves and put it down to premarriage nerves, eh?”
“You didn’t look very nervous in there!” I jerked my head back.
“No, no, I wasn’t actually,” she agreed guilelessly, eyes wide. She lowered her voice and glanced back at the door. “If you must know, Olivia,” she whispered, “I was absolutely fan-tastic! Had him positively squealing for more, and we did it four times, and the fourth time his teeth nearly went through the duvet like a tatty old sandwich!”
“Nanette, I really don’t – ”
“And as for him!” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “Boy, is he heaven. I swear to God, Olivia, you don’t know what you’re missing, and listen – ” she clutched my arm as I tried to interrupt – “I’m really happy to share, honestly. It’s frightfully greedy of me, what with Roger as well, and as far as I’m concerned Lance is just a delightful diversion with a cute little backside, but you could really do with him, darling. Make you feel loads better, I swear, and I’d hate to think I was hogging the lion’s share or anything.”
“Ah,” I said folding my arms grimly as Lance appeared, doing up his jeans. “The lion himself.”
“Oh er, hi, Liwy,” he said rather sheepishly. I must say he looked all in, utterly exhausted as he staggered down the steps.
“Lance, I was just explaining to Nanette here, that with an impressionable ten-year-old about I’d rather you didn’t enliven her sex education with practical demonstrations in my back garden, OK?”
Lance shrugged. “Your back garden, but our caravan, surely?”
“Then move it,” I hissed. “Tow it to Waitrose car park next time you feel the urge, but don’t do it in my back yard!”
He regarded me with a quizzical smile. “I really don’t know why you’re so upset. Claudia was fast asleep.”
“Yes, and alone! Anyone could have walked in!”
“Oh, come on
, being in the back garden doesn’t exactly constitute leaving her – ”
“Ello ‘ello ‘ello! I feel like PC Plod breaking up this happy gathering. Wha’s going on then?” Mac elbowed his way roughly into our heated little circle and flung a drunken arm round my shoulder. “What’s up, luv? Wha’s occurring?”
“Ah, good, Mac, you’re back,” I said, relieved. “I was just explaining the house rules, vis-a-vis sexual activity, to Lance and Nanette here, hoping to keep it off the premises, as it were. I’m sure you’ll back me up.” I folded my arms grimly.
Mac looked from Lance to Nanette. He blinked in astonishment, then a slow, beery grin developed. He took a deep breath, raised a finger, and seemed on the point of making a profound statement, when round the corner Spiro and Alf suddenly lurched into view, arms round each other’s shoulders, singing their respective national anthems in their respective tongues, at the top of their voices. As they approached, they stopped singing, slowed down, and came to a halt in front of Nanette. They swayed a bit, and looked her up and down with considerable interest. Nervously clutching the neck of the dressing gown, Nanette turned and scuttled back into the caravan. Alf turned to me and raised startled eyebrows.
“Orraaghff?” It was half belch and half interrogative, and roughly translated from troglodyte, I imagine it meant – Good evening, Mrs McFarllen, so what the devil’s your neighbour doing in my dressing gown then? I shuddered. Christ! And to think I’d thought I’d miss them!
“You bin a naughty boy, then, Lance?” grinned Mac with road-map eyes, wagging a crooked finger at him. “You bin a bit of a lad? You dirty devil, you! You see?” he hissed alcoholically in my ear, “I told you he was a one wiv the birds. Can’t keep ‘em off him, like flies round a pile of shite they are. Looks like you’ve missed yer chance there, though, luv. Looks like No No Nanette has turned into Yes Yes Nanette and got in there first!”
Olivia’s Luck (2000) Page 28
